Two Are Halves of One
by silly-beggar
Summary: "One's not half of two; two are halves of one." Modern AUs.
1. Remarkable

***gasp* Another modern AU from me, who'd have guessed it?! This is my first attempt at a sort of multichapter, but because I am deathly afraid of committing to a plot each chapter will read as a standalone. They're all based on a tumblr post I saw that gave a list of "Which of Your OTP does x?" and, surprisingly, they were all applicable to a Modern Banna.  
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 **The quote in the summary is from E.E Cummings.  
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 **Thank you to my lovely betas for the help, you two are just brilliant.**

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 _ **Who steals the whole blanket in the middle of the night and leaves the other without any?**_

There really was no perfect word to describe her, but if he had to pick one it would be 'remarkable'.

Anna Smith was remarkable at many things, he had come to learn. Within a few short months of knowing her, John Bates had fallen hard and fast for this woman and he wanted nothing more than to learn every other remarkable thing about Miss Anna Smith.

Her loyalty was a shock to him at first. His marriage to Vera had been all sorts of wrong, and to have someone defending his every fault was a sensation he was not familiar (nor entirely comfortable) with. Anna was incredibly determined. She hadn't let the hurdles Vera was continuing to set for them knock her, but she also never let him sink too deep into his self-deprecation. He had tried, God knows he had tried, to stop her from wasting herself on him, but Anna Smith was nothing if not tenacious.

He learnt that she was smart, very much so. She had propelled herself through her education with a strong work ethic and was now on her way up in the accounting firm she had dreamed of working in. Her brain was exceptionally quick, and he was in awe of her.

She also had a huge heart. He had never known anyone, with the exception of his dear mother, to be so warm and loving. For when Anna loved, she loved fiercely.

He could not deny that she was also the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was stunning. He was entranced by her silky hair, her impossibly blue eyes, andher radiant smile.

She was a remarkable reader. She read faster than even he, which was no mean feat.

She made a remarkable roast dinner.

She was remarkably kind to those who didn't deserve it.

She was remarkable at stealing the duvet in the middle of the night.

It was a while before they had spent the night together. His marital situation made for extreme hesitancy on his part, and she was almost saintly in her wait for him. But when they finally did and had succumbed to a sated, restful sleep he had discovered that his love was indeed a blanket-snatcher.

How on earth did she manage it? They had been completely tangled up in one another, she molded against his side with her head on his chest, his arm around her holding her close, their legs interwoven. He'd only just managed to pull up her flowery duvet over them (it had been unceremoniously shoved in a pile at the bottom of the bed) before he had drifted into the waiting arms of sleep. And now, not two hours later, she had migrated to the other side of the bed, cocooned in the same duvet. He mourned both the loss of her warmth and the warmth of the covers, and his state of undress did not help matters.

The first few times he had coaxed her awake, unrolled her from her chrysalis and pulled her back towards him (along with the all-important duvet). Needless to say, she was not impressed and rewarded him with her cold feet pushed up his calves (she had the duvet, for crying out loud. How could they be so icy?). Yet despite his valiant efforts, each time he had awoken an hour or so later to the cold again. Anna may still have been pressed up against him, but somehow she had managed to wrap the duvet around her and only her.

He had tried putting on his pyjamas to keep out the cold, but she had only woken up and pouted at his coverings, pressed herself back against him and tried to undo the buttons. He had tried tucking the end of the duvet under him but, amazingly, she still managed to nick it. He even once tried two single duvets (for it was winter and he was but a mere, cold man) but she somehow got both.

In time he figured out that she would sometimes steal a fleece blanket positioned strategically underneath the duvet instead of the duvet itself. He gifted her thick, flannel pyjamas for Christmas in the hope she wouldn't see the need to steal the duvet's warmth, but apparently the theft was a subconscious action (an astonishing one, at that) that she couldn't really control. In fact, the pyjamas only prompted her to quip that more comfy pyjamas meant more time in bed, which was how they had got into this situation in the first place (not that he was complaining).

It was a year later, in mid-October, that she woke him up with a kiss and thrust a wrapped present into his hands.

"Happy birthday," she whispered into his chest.

"Anna, don't think I don't appreciate your gifts but we've been awake for all of a minute. I can wait." He smiled at her in the dull light as she scowled, pulling the present away from him.

"Fine. Guess which birthday boy is getting nothing then." The twinkle in her eyes gave her away, and he kissed the beginnings of a smirk off her face.

"Alright, if you insist," he sighed, reaching out for the present and carefully unwrapping it. Within the crackling confines of last Christmas' paper ("Three rolls for £1? John, it's a Christmas miracle!") lay a… thing.

"Thank you, love," he offered after a moment, beyond confused. She smiled even more and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Do you like it?" her enthusiasm was infectious, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I'm sure I'll love it once I know what exactly it is," he replied, still turning the present over in his hands. It was a long, flattened rope with two spatula-shaped rubber clips at the end.

"It's a thingy ma bobby for the thing!" she chirped in a sing-song voice, bouncing slightly, "For you!" That cleared things up.

"A thingy ma bobby?"

"A clipper thing. For the duvet. You clip in either side of the duvet and run the cord underneath the mattress. It holds it in place," she explained animatedly, gesturing with her hands (his mannerisms were beginning to rub off on her), "I know you hate it that I steal the duvet, and I'm so sorry I do. But I'm in my thirties, some things are just too difficult to change. So, we can change the duvet's… environment instead," she beamed up at him, waiting for his reaction.

"Anna, I-" As frustrated as he sometimes became with the duvet chronicles, he had never imagined that she really noticed that much. She was always half asleep, after all, and he would bear much more than a night of cold to keep her warm and comfortable.

"I truly am sorry, John. Let's hope this works. And if it means you're warmer in bed, well… all the more reason to visit the bedroom more often!"

"You, Anna Smith, are a remarkable woman." he pulled her towards him, kissing her soundly.

She really was.


	2. Language

**A/N: Well, better late than never. Almost a year on and I'm finally updating this fic. I haven't written for a very long while, so I'm sorry that I'm** _ **so**_ **rusty. I thought it would be better to just post something quick and simple (with no plot) as I try to get back into the flow of things. Thanks to my dear beta, you're wonderful.**

 **Warning for a few swear words.**

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 _ **Which one is always stubbing their toe and screaming about it?**_

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"Shit!"

"John, _please_ ," Anna sighed, "He has ears, you know." She turned from the hob to look exasperatedly at her sheepish husband as he braced himself against the doorframe of the kitchen, eyes screwed up in pain.

John Bates had always been clumsy. His mother had scolded him many a time for his quotidian knocks and bruises, toes in particular. His wife was no different, admonishing him often for his carelessness. Whilst not offended by his language, she was especially keen to ensure that their unborn child did not pick up any of their father's colourful vocabulary.

"Back to he are we?" John grunted, teeth gritted. Anna had to bite her lip to conceal her amusement as he flopped onto the dining room chair, foot in hand.

"It varies, you know. But don't try and change the subject. You've got to start working on your language," she reprimanded, switching off the gas and moving over to sit next to him (it would have been easier to stay frustrated for longer if he didn't give her _those_ eyes).

"You say she one day and he the next," John replied. Anna shot him a reproving look, and he chastened. "Alright, I'll try. And I've got three months still. We'll need it to change this old man's ways." Her eyes saddened slightly. She hated when he put himself down.

"Sorry, love, I didn't mean old. Well-weathered. Experienced…or geriatric," he joked, pleased to see a smile light up her face once more. She gestured for him to place his poor foot on her lap.

"You giving me a foot rub? This seems to be the wrong way round," he teased, but accepted nonetheless (she was sure to get her way somehow, might as well make it quick). John Bates was never in pain for long with such a tenacious woman at his side.

Anna smiled, focusing on the task at hand by gently rubbing her husband's injured toe, "I wouldn't be too sure about having time to change. That book Mary gave me said he can hear from as early as 23 weeks, and we're past that mark now, thank God."

"I doubt they'll be picking up my cursing," he scoffed.

"Are you telling me that he doesn't know the sound of his Daddy's voice?" she challenged, stopping the massage and crossing her arms.

"Their Mummy's, more like. I've heard you singing."

A rosy glow graced Anna's cheeks. "I didn't know that you were listening…" she trailed off.

"Don't be embarrassed, love. It was endearing, and rather beautiful." His view now was rather endearing and beautiful. There sat his beautiful wife, in her most favourite flannel pyjamas, golden hair tumbling out of its bun and eyes glinting with the beginnings of tears.

"I just love them so much, John," she whispered, looking away, her eyes filling up quickly, "I didn't even know it was possible." Her change of pronoun gone unnoticed, he leant forward and slowly covered her hands with one of his larger ones, the other tipping her chin up towards him.

"Me too, love. And I just can't wait to have them here." He met her lips in a sweet kiss, feeling her smile.

"This doesn't take away from your potty mouth, John Bates," she scolded half-heartedly, before placing another quick kiss on his lips and pulling away, "I don't care how long it will be till she can repeat the words, you're working on your language now. It's really quite terrible."

"She? Make up your mind, love," John said amusedly, smiling lazily at his wife.

"And for that, my dear husband, you can drain the spaghetti." She smiled triumphantly as her husband groaned and stood, placing her feet on his chair as soon as he had moved.

"As you so wish. This foulmouthed fool deserves it," he passed round her chair, turning to lean over her and kiss her head. Anna watched him lovingly as he pottered around the kitchen, beginning to dance.

"John, I'd be careful if I were you. It's not the biggest kitchen," Anna warned.

"What was it that you were singing the other day? Was it Annie?"

She sighed. "I thought we'd left the subject. But yes, it was Annie."

"The sun'll come out tomorrow…" he began to sing, throwing her a variety of faces as he mixed pasta and sauce.

"John, I really wouldn't. You're a clumsy thing when you're focusing." She shook her head lovingly, well aware of the hazards of their new home; even she was prone to knocking into the bin.

"Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow-"

"John watch-"

"There'll be- _fuck!_ My toe!"


End file.
